


love, emma

by indecisively_yours



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Cobra - Freeform, Captain Cobra Swan, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisively_yours/pseuds/indecisively_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>boy/girl friendships can be quite complicated sometimes—especially when said boy’s in love with said girl and and the whole world seems to know about it but her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one.

Killian all but storms into Emma’s house, having collided with Anna just moments ago outside. Only stopped by Ingrid shouting, “Shoes!” from the kitchen, he slips off his sneakers at the pile by the door and continues his way upstairs. He knows there’s no rush but he takes the stairs two at a time to get him to Emma’s room faster.  
  
(He snuck out of her room at a quarter to one last night and really, with Ingrid already knowing he’s here more often than he’s at home, sneaking out’s more for politeness and show.)  
  
“Rise and shine, love!” Killian greets her as he throws the door open. He hears a groan coming from underneath the comforters piled on her bed.

While it’s fall and it’s not necessarily the warmest temperature, he’s sure Ingrid’s left the temperature inside a bit chilly for the time being. Hence the hiding Emma, who he’s certain lies there torn between actually getting up and punching him for waking her up.

After placing a wrapped box on her nightstand, he pulls back the covers and plops into bed next to her. As if on cue, she moves his arm around her and tucks herself into his side.  
  
(He’s never told her about the butterflies that make a mess inside of him every time she’s near—or the way his heart races when she does things like this.)  
  
“Five more minutes,” she mumbles as she begins to tangle her leg with his. Not once have her eyes opened, but he nods all the same and presses a kiss to her forehead.  
  
He would have given her the whole day if she asked for it, lying here with her, but Ingrid’s voice calling out her name throws out any possibility of that. This time, Emma groans again and slowly pulls herself away from Killian’s embrace.  
  
“Why can’t I just sleep?” she asks, rubbing away any remnants of peace from her eyes. She yawns and stretches and it takes Killian everything in him not to focus on the fact that she’s not wearing a bra.  
  
“Because it’s your birthday, love,” he explains, reaching over and grabbing the box from the nightstand.  
  
“Exactly! It’s my birthday, I should be allowed to—oh!” She looks down at the wrapped box now shoved in her hands by Killian. “Killian, you didn’t—”  
  
“Just open it,” he urges her, shifting his position so that his back’s now to the foot of the bed to face her.  
  
He can only watch her in silence as she huffs, mumbling something about how he's too much and did not need to get him anything, before she tears through the package and unveils a jewelry box.

“Please don’t tell me you—”  
  
“You are the most talkative person I’ve encountered opening presents, Swan,” he points out. “And yes, I’m including Anna’s gift commentaries during Secret Santa.”  
  
She shoots him a look as she opens the box and when the focus goes down to the piece in her hand, her jaw drops. Inside a blue box rests a silver swan pendant. She glances up at him with a smile, one that Killian matches just as enthusiastically.  
  
“So…you like it?” he asks. He glances down at his jeans, picking at invisible lint as he nervously says, “Because if you don’t, we can return it. I know you aren’t big on jewelry but I saw it and thought of you and figured—”  
  
“Hey.” She reaches out and places a over his own. He squeezes her fingers lightly. “I love it. Help me put it on. ”  
  
“As you wish.”  
  
(Little does she know that for her, he’d go to the ends of the world—or time if necessary.)  
  
“There,” he whispers against her ear once the pendant’s clasped. His fingers brush against her collarbone as he straightens the chain and when she turns her head to look at him, he swears she can hear his heart racing this time.  
  
“Thank you,” she says. He knows if he inches forward their lips will meet.  
  
(He wants their lips to meet. God, how he’s wanted that for quite a while now.)  
  
“Of course, love.”  
  
He’s pretty sure she’s not hallucinating when he sees her start to lean forward, but Ingrid’s voice shouting about implementing a ‘no door’ policy in this household causes them to jump apart.  
  
(If he were looking at her then, he’d see the blush that crept up her cheeks then. One that matched his own.)

-/-

They spend Emma’s birthday night at Ruby’s for a surprise party thrown by her. By now, their friends don’t question the fact that Emma and Killian are practically glued at the hip, so Ruby places it on him to make sure Emma doesn’t find out about the surprise.

It’s a warm welcome for the girl who years ago planned on running away from yet another foster home until Ingrid vowed not to give up on her.  
  
(She let her get on the bus to the next stop and Emma all but cried when she stepped off the bus and came face to face with teary-eyed Ingrid waiting for her.)  
  
In typical Ruby party fashion, the music’s loud, the drinks are flowing, and everyone’s having a great time.  
  
Emma, who barely dances herself, has already dragged Killian onto the dance floor twice, Graham once, and even Ruby herself. He’s pretty sure the second and third red solo cups she had been walking around with weren’t filled with beer, but he knows this one is.  
  
When he grabs her now at the side of the yard, holding her close and swaying to the beat of a Dexys Midnight Runner song, he realizes he never wants to let her go. He wants to let her know that she’s it for him.  
  
She looks up at him, lazy smile on her face as the hand at the nape of his neck trails into his hair.  
  
(This is it. She’s going to kiss him. Should he be the one to do it? God, he wants to kiss her.)  
  
Seconds later, her head drops between them as she pukes something vicious up. He’s quick to hold her hair back as she grips onto his forearm for support.  
  
“I’m not feeling too good,” she groans.  
  
“Let’s get you home, Swan.”  
  
Home ends up being Killian’s place where Liam’s gone for the weekend on business. He assured Elsa that he would take care of her tonight, knowing full well that if he let her go home with Elsa in her current state, Ingrid would not be pleased. Newly turned seventeen year-old Emma would not live to see the light of day until graduation.  
  
He’s practically a pro at getting Emma upstairs and into the bathroom to rinse her mouth and wipe her face.  
  
(He doesn’t want to think about why he’s a pro at this, because what’s happening with Emma now’s completely different than what’s happened with Liam in the past.)  
  
He hears a thud when he turns his back to her seated form on the bed, and when he returns to her with one of her favorite shirts of his and a pair of pants, he has to coax her out of bed.  
  
“Sleep,” Emma’s muffled voice comes from the pillow.  
  
“After you’ve changed, love,” he tells her. “There’ll be hot cocoa and a hangover cure waiting for you in the morning.”  
  
That wakes her up, if only for a second. With all the crankiness of someone in her state, she unbuttons her pants and slides them down her hips, steadying herself with a hand gripping Killian’s shirt as she gets her legs out of the jeans. She tries to get her sweater off but only manages to get stuck and Killian can’t help but laugh at the small whine that comes from her.  
  
(Laughing’s preferable to noticing that your best friend, the one you’re madly in love with, happens to be standing in front of you in only her undies.)  
  
“Just let me help,” he says. She lets out a sigh as he throws the clothes onto his shoulder and helps Emma get out of the sweater. Just as quickly as he gets that shirt on, he helps her into the other one.  
  
She’s staring, that much is obvious. As he positions the pants in his hand lower to help her, he looks up to see that she hasn’t moved an inch.  
  
“Have I got something on my face?” he asks, standing upright. “What is it?”  
  
He’s not prepared for the way her lips crash onto his in a searing kiss, full of hunger and want and lust. Her hands thread into his hair as he drops the pants so that his own could move to the small of her back to steady himself.  
  
(His heart’s racing. He wanted to kiss her. Not like this.)  
  
He’s halfway ready to pull away, tuck her into bed and sleep in the guest bedroom just in case, when her tongue finds his own and yep, he’s a goner.  
  
He only inches her forward when she shifts their positions, knees hitting the edge of the mattress before she pushes him back.  
  
“Emma,” he breathes.  
  
“Just shut up and let me have my birthday wish, Jones.”  
  
He feels his jeans getting tighter and dear God does she have to straddle him now, of all times?  
  
(His heart’s past the point of racing, now. More like drumming out a beat that won’t stop.)  
  
Her lips hover above his before she kisses a trail down his neck. And then he feels her still atop him, breathing evening out.  
  
“Swan?” he says softly, pushing her hair to the side.  
  
Her nose only burrows itself into the crook of his neck before the soft snores escape her.  
  
(He writes this off as just his type of luck, especially when it comes to one Emma Swan.)  
  
(Maybe one day his luck will change.)

-/-

(The next morning isn't it. Even though they wake up a mess of tangled limbs, she doesn't remember a thing about last night.)

(He wishes he remembered how he got that hickey.) 

-/-

(Halloween rolls around and of course they've got matching costumes as they trick-or-treat around town before yet another party, this one hosted by Tink dressed in her namesake's figure.)

(The Dread Pirate Roberts walks a few steps behind the group, watching Princess Buttercup engaged in quiet conversation with the Huntsman.)  
  
(He should have dressed up as Captain Hook.)  
  
(The party's less like a party and more like a gathering with pumpkin ale and their group of friends sitting in a circle exchanging candy.)  
  
("You don't even like malted milk balls!" shouts Tinkerbell, ready to trade her entire stash of gummy vampire teeth and gummy Krabby Patties with an unmasked Westley.  
  
"Trade half your stash for the Krabby Patties," Buttercup nudges his side. "I like those."  
  
"As you wish," he responds. "Anything else you might fancy?"  
  
"Don't even dare look at my stash, Pirate," the Huntsman says.  
  
Snow White pushes her pile of peppermint patties forward.  
  
No one's ever warned her about making deals with pirates.)  
  
(She smiles as Red Riding Hood nods to the Huntsman and places a kiss on his lips.)  
  
("You thought I...?" she glances over at Ruby and Graham.  
  
He shrugs, scratching behind his ear in that way he does when he's nervous or doesn't want to answer one of her questions.  
  
"We should have dressed you up as a different pirate," she says offhandedly. "You're definitely living up to Jack Sparrow's stance on opportunities.")  
  
(She stands awkwardly at her door when he drops her off. Bids her a quiet goodnight then heads home.)  
  
(Fuck, he realizes at three am staring at the ceiling. She wanted him to kiss her.)

-/-

(There’s pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. He sits next to Emma at the table and the two of them notice Liam and Elsa making eyes at each other.)

(He’s thankful for her and his brother and Ingrid’s delicious turkey. She’s thankful for not feeling so alone in this world anymore.)

-/-

A huge nor’easter hits their small town in Maine a week before Christmas vacation’s set to start, effectively closing the school district and giving them an extra week off. The near blizzard conditions still almost everything and shuts off the power in half the block.

Those with generators and power are encouraged to open their homes to their neighbors. The Jones house, while being maintained well enough by Liam, happens to be one of the first houses to lose power.

So, just like that, the Jones brothers pack a bag and head to Ingrid’s place until the storm clears.

(Unfortunately—or fortunately, if you ask Killian—the storm lasts almost the entire week, spilling over into Christmas.)

When Christmas Eve hits, Liam braves the storm with Elsa to grab the presents and any non-perishable food he could contribute to Christmas dinner. That night, dinner’s a success. One present’s exchanged at midnight and the rest are saved for the morning. Then they’re off their separate ways, Killian and Liam sharing the guest bedroom once more.

“Hey,” Emma says as her and Killian get up from the couch and shut off the television. “How about we open another present?”

They had stayed up later than the rest to finish watching  _A Christmas Carol_  and even with his current exhaustion he doesn’t regret it one bit. He stretches, tee riding up to expose a bit of his side as flannel pants hanging low on his hips. He turns back to Emma with a sleepy smile.

“Now, love, you know Anna would kill you if we ruined the surprise.”

Emma rolls her eyes and heads for the light up pine tree with a huff, digging into the branches for the small box she had hidden inside of it. She walks back to Killian and shoves it into his hands. “Just open it,” she instructs him.

He sits back down on the couch and rubs the sleep out of his eyes before tearing open the package. It’s a box. He looks up at Emma with a smile, keeping eye contact as he opens the box.

“You’re not gonna see what’s inside if you keep looking at me,” she points out.

He laughs and looks down; the words leave him soon after.

“The lady at the antiques store said it’ll point to the thing you want most. Or whoever love most,” she corrects herself. “I forget what she was saying but she was really excited about it. If you don’t like it, I’m sure we can re-gift it! They didn’t have the best returns policy, but—”

“It’s beautiful, Swan.” He gets up from the couch and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll cherish it forever. Thank you.”

(She’s glad the only thing illuminating the living room happens to be the Christmas tree still lit, effectively hiding the blush that creeps up her face.)

“Come on, let’s go to bed. I’ve no doubt we’ll be up with the sun tomorrow to finish opening the rest of these presents.”

(The compass points to her as he follows her up the stairs. Maybe that lady was onto something after all.).

-/-

"I just think this is dumb!" Emma grabs another chocolate from the box in the midst of her tirade. "Why place so much importance on your first time? It's not going to be out of a fairytale anyway."

"Someone sounds a little bitter," Killian says with a chuckle, reaching around her to steal the last one with coconut.

"Says the guy who hasn't gotten any ever," she retorts.

(It's true. He hasn't. That's because this year, like every other year, he's spent Valentine's Day with her.)

"Low blow, Swan."

"I'm just saying." She shrugs. "I just wouldn't want to get attached to that person. It's your first time. It should be more for the experience."

"Well, if you ever need help with that, I'd be happy to assist," he responds.

Seconds later, he stills. She switches the channel and stumbles upon another romantic comedy, keeping her mouth shut.

(He should just ask her out and get it over with, right?)

(He doesn't.)

(Asking her out on Valentine's Day would be too cliché anyway.).

-/-

Ruby snaps a picture of them together at the diner on his birthday. She has her head on his shoulder, both of them engrossed in the book Liam got him the night before as a gift.

“Hey, I wasn’t ready! Take a better one!”

Emma throws her arms around Killian’s neck, cheek touching his as Ruby slides into the booth one table over and snaps the picture.

“One more,” Ruby says.

“No more,” Killian retorts, looking over at Emma.

“Oh, come on,” she says. “It’s your birthday! Live a little!”

Ruby snaps another one before running away with an “Aw,” to the back room for the cake.

When he blows out the candles, he makes a wish to gather the courage to tell Emma he loves her. Ruby snaps another picture then, just as Emma presses a kiss to his cheek.

(He keeps all of those pictures on his phone and even makes one of them his background.)

-/-

He comes to a stop next to her locker, all dimples and mirth. “Two tickets to prom, love,” he says, holding up a white envelope. “I’m thinking we go all out with this fairytale theme. Can’t let Mary Margaret and Dave steal the spotlight as Snow White and Prince Charming again.”

Emma rolls her eyes as she swaps out her math textbook with her history textbook. “Who says I’m going to prom with you, Jones?”

From the corner of her eye, Emma watches as Killian scratches behind his ear and begins to shuffle his feet. “I just figured…” He casts his eyes down. “What with…I shouldn’t have assumed…It was stupid of me to think…”

She reaches out and touches his arm. He’s drowning—fast. “Hey,” she says. “I’m kidding. I’d love to go to prom with you. Now walk me to class and make this official like in one of those cheesy rom-coms.”

She links her arm through his as they begin to walk to their history class.

(He swears his heart skips a beat.)

-/-

(Two weeks before prom, Neal Cassidy asks her to be his date.)

“You’ve had a crush on him since ninth grade.”

“I  _had_  a crush on him in ninth grade. Plus, I’m going with you.”

“You’re only going with me because we always go together.”

“Killian…”

“Just say ‘yes’ and enjoy one of our last moments in this place. I’ll…go with Tink or something. No harm done.”

(She says yes.)

When Liam sees him moping around the house the rest of the week, he just shakes his head.

“Word of advice, little brother: a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

Liam smacks him upside the head just before he goes to bed.

(He deserved that.)

-/-

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Liam says, searching the living room for his keys. Killian rolls his eyes, grabbing them from the coffee table before tossing them his way. Liam catches them expertly before adjusting his tie. “Where would I be without you, little brother?”

“Probably still here, instead of leaving,” Killian remarks, sinking back onto the couch as he changes the channel. “Go already!”

Liam laughs, throwing the door open just in time to see a fidgeting Emma by the door. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before mumbling something along the lines of, “I thought you’d be gone by now”; Liam glances back at his younger brother with a glare.

“No wild parties are happening here!” he says to his older brother. “I didn’t even know she was coming over.”

“He didn’t,” Emma backs him up. “We haven’t spoken since this morning.” She glances between the Jones on the couch and the Jones by the door. “Could I talk to him…in private?” she asks Liam.

The older Jones holds the door open for Emma before walking out and shutting it himself. He calls back a “Goodbye!” through the closed door just as Killian gets up from the couch. He can see the nervousness rolling off of Emma in waves; shoving his hands into his pockets, he comes to stand before her.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asks as he hears Liam’s car leave the driveway.

(He’s hoping this has something to do with prom and her changing her mind about Cassidy.)

“I want you to fuck me.”

(His jaw drops. This is so not what he had in mind.)

“Not fuck,” Emma stutters, a furious blush creeping up her cheeks as she continues, “Not…” She sighs. “ _Sex_  sounds too…formal, and  _making love_  sounds too…y’know.”

(He knows. Oh, he knows. He’s wanted to make love to her since she drunkenly confessed her birthday wish to him last October.)

“But I need you to take my virginity.” She’s got a white-knuckle grip on the straps of her backpack as she looks up at him, and now he’s the one to blush as their eyes meet. “Better yet, I want to give you my virginity.”

“I…um…” He scratches that spot behind his ear. “I’m not saying no. I’m  _definitely_  not saying no, but…what happened to all that ‘virginity’s a social construct and your first time’s crap’ stance you had?”

“I still have it!” she’s quick to respond. “I’m just…also well aware of how society views things and…” she sighs again. “Look, with prom and graduation and everything all coming up I just…” Her eyes never break contact with his, fingers loosening her grip on her straps. “I want my first sexual experience to be with someone I trust.” This time, her eyes glance down at her sneakers. “And I trust you, okay?” she mumbles. “I trust you more than anybody.”

(There’s a ringing in his ears and he’s pretty sure he’s just standing there, staring at her like the idiot he is because he hasn’t said a word yet.)

“God, I’m so stupid,” she says a moment later. “Barging in on you like this,  _asking_  you for this when it would be your first time, too. I’ll just…”

Just as Emma turns to leave, Killian reacts; his hand reaches out for hers, pulling her back to him. He swears she can hear his heart beating; she has to hear it because to him it sounds like thunder and drums echoing on and on.

“Hey,” he says, squeezing her hand. “I’d be honored. So, when would you want to do this?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh.”

“Too soon?” she quickly asks. “I’m springing too much on you. I shouldn’t have come prepared. God, I’m an idiot.”

“Hey,” he says again. “Your timing couldn’t be better, actually.”

(When she offers him a warm smile he can’t help but think about how beautiful she is and how lucky he is and how maybe one of their birthday wishes is coming true tonight.)

When they reach his room, he locks the door and she kicks off her sneakers. Her backpack’s deposited at the foot of his bed. He counts to ten, takes a breath, and turns around to face her only see her standing there with a string of condoms in hand and her hair up in a pony.

And he laughs. He can’t do anything but laugh in a situation like this because here they are.

“Could I just take this off?” he asks, reaching up to pull her hair out of the elastic. She nods just as he pulls it away, letting her golden locks flow around her shoulders. “We’ll stop whenever you want, no matter what. Just say the word, love. Sounds good?”

Emma nods, reaching for the hem of her shirt to throw it off her. He reaches out and stills her movements. “Not yet,” he tells her. Before he can hesitate any further, he cups her face in his hands and closes the distance between them. His lips almost ghost over hers as their foreheads and tips of their noses touch. “May I?” he asks again. All it takes is a simple nod from her before he gently touches her lips with his own.

(Even now, as their lips begin to move in sync, he feels like he’s dreaming.)

A gentle exploration of tongues becomes something more as Emma hooks her fingers into the loops of his pants and tugs him closer. It’s not long before their clothes are littered about on his floor and her back’s hit his mattress as he hovers above her. He’s hard and ready but damn it if she came to him to be her first then he was going to be her first in more ways than one.

“What are you…” she begins to ask as he trails a line of kisses up her smooth thighs. Her hips give into his movements before he can respond; an ache grows as he all but nears her already wet center. She moans out his name before she lets out a breathy, “Just do it.”

While he’s sure he should be the one being teased by removing her panties so slow, the way he has her reacting lets him know that it’s most definitely getting to her. Before she even realizes, his tongue works up a rhythm that has her threading her fingers through his hair to tug on it. When he pulls away abruptly she pulls him back down just until she screams his name.

His hair’s all over the place as he sits up, reaching for the condoms on the nightstand just as she does. He loses his balance seconds later and as Emma tries to grab him to prevent him from falling, she comes tumbling down onto the floor with him.

“Ow,” he groans as he hits the floor. Pretty soon she’s laughing and he’s laughing and then he leans up and kisses her and starts up all over again.

They go through three condoms. The first one goes flying in his attempt to open the package. The second one rips as she takes a stab at opening the foil.

(Guess they are right when they say third time’s the charm.)

It takes them a while to work up the right rhythm and their foreheads bump once or twice, but when she comes with him he’s certain she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

In the middle of the night, famished by their activities, Killian, in his boxers, and Emma, in nothing but her underwear and Killian’s shirt from earlier, head downstairs to make PB&J’s.

“Liam!” a startled Killian shouts, moving his arm behind him to hide Emma. He feels her hide her face, nose touching his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

The older Jones puts down his bowl of cereal. “Considering I live here, I think that’s a fairly stupid question to ask, brother.” As Liam attempts to look behind Killian’s shoulder, Killian feels the blush begin to creep up Emma’s cheeks once more.

Killian sighs. “I mean your business meeting thing. I thought you’d be back tomorrow,” he explains.

“Got my dates mixed up,” Liam says with a shrug. He raises a brow before sitting back on the couch, bowl of cereal in hand once more. “Hello to you, too, Emma.”

“Hi, Liam,” she says, poking her head out to sheepishly greet him. Her hand quickly finds Killian’s.

“We’re just…getting a snack,” Killian responds, tugging her hand and rushing them into the kitchen.

He stands behind her as she preps the sandwiches, arms on either side as she moves about in the small space. When she finishes hers—peanut butter on both sides and jelly in the middle—he steals a bite and then grabs his own, thwarting off her quick hand trying to take it back.

They sneak back upstairs once Liam’s dozed off on the couch and neither of them can hold in the laughter much longer. That too, turns into something else. Kisses that tasted like peanut butter turned into lips locked and before either one of them realizes it, it’s past midnight.

He assures her he’ll be back swiftly and if it isn’t for Liam standing outside his own bedroom door, he would have kept his word. The two brothers stand there in silence for the better part of two minutes, waiting for the other to crack.

Liam’s the first one to do so, shit-eating grin appearing on his face as he claps his brother on the back and says something along the lines of, “It’s about bloody time.”

He disappears back into his room to spot a half-asleep Emma trying her best to wait up for him. He shuts the light off and slips back into bed; almost instantly, she molds herself into his embrace.

(Maybe his luck’s starting to change after all.)

When he feels her breathing even out, he presses a kiss to her hair and whispers those words against her skin.

(Maybe it will after this.)

-/-

(It doesn’t. She still goes to prom with Neal Cassidy. He, for the better part, goes alone.)


	2. two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick little thank you to all of you who left me wonderful comments/reviews on this story! a million gratitudes to you all! without further ado, here is installment number 2.

Killian says his goodbyes when the slow dances start.

Tink doesn’t stop him when he goes. He can’t stay inside of that gym much longer, knowing that Emma’s run off with Neal and they haven’t come back.

The walk home gives him too much unwanted time to think, about how he should have asked her to dance before she left, about how he should have asked her what that night meant, about how he shouldn’t have pushed her to go to the dance with Neal.

A figure sitting on his porch swing gives him pause. Too small to be Liam and too familiar to be anyone else, Killian’s shoulders drop as he approaches his front steps.

“How long have you been sitting out here?” he asks.

Emma looks up at him, distraught expression unhidden on her features. Her hair, once up in something intricate Elsa had helped her with, now cascades around her shoulders. He doesn’t want to think about why that’s so or why her tiara rests askew atop her head.

“Long enough,” she says.

He extends his hand out to her and almost immediately she runs into his arms. He can’t help but burrow his face into the crook of her neck, holding her just as tightly as he realizes she’s holding back a sob. 

(She smells less like Emma and more like someone else and he hates it.)

He doesn’t ask her how her night went when they step inside his place. Instead, he watches as she heads straight upstairs and holes herself up in the bathroom. He’s changed out of his get-up and into pajamas when she steps out of the bathroom looking brand new. 

“Liam out of town again this weekend?” she asks him after she’s taken one of his boxers and one of his shirts and claimed them as her own. Killian nods. “So…does this mean we can take over the couch and watch Netflix without his constant commentary?”

That gets a slight chuckle out of him. “That it does. Lead the way, love.”

She grabs onto his hand as they walk downstairs. 

(She doesn’t let go the entire night.)

-/-

A letter comes just a week shy of graduation and turns his world upside down. No scholarship, no loans, no way to make it to school. Normally, in most situations, Emma would be the first he’d tell about this—except she can’t find out.

He’s not about to stop her from going to Boston just because he can’t tag along like usual.

“There’s another option,” Liam says over dinner one night. “I considered it, before...”

Killian nods. _Before our father left; before you were forced to raise me; before I crushed every dream you had by needing you here with me._

“Hey,” Liam calls out to him. “Don’t do that. What I know you’re doing up there. Staying was my choice and my choice alone. In the end, it all worked out for the best, right?”

He nods again. If Liam hadn’t stayed, he wouldn’t have gotten that job at the docks, leading to whatever it is that busies his older brother and keeps a roof over their head and food on their plates.

“Just think about it,” he says. “You can go talk to someone at the recruitment office and make a decision then.” 

(He goes—and does—and a few weeks later another letter comes in the mail.)

-/-

(She doesn’t talk to him for a whole two weeks when she finds out he joined the Navy. Those are the worst two weeks of his life.)

-/-

He’s had enough of it when Emma walks into the diner, makes eye contact with him, and promptly turns back around to leave. He excuses himself from the booth—the one they sat in the night of graduation and shared a laugh over a plate of disco fries—and runs after her.

“Hey!” he calls out, seeing her past the front entrance of the diner. He runs to the middle of the road, grabbing her arm and stopping her. “Hey.”

“What!” Emma shouts as she turns around. “What is it?”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” She rips her hand from his hold but doesn’t move from where she stands. “Can I continue to do that now?” 

“No,” he tells her. “Is this because I didn’t tell you? Because I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t inform you of this but I didn’t want you backing out of the Boston plans just because I won’t be around.”

“You think this is because I’m pissed off you’re not coming to Boston with me?”

He stops, blinks, and then nods. “Why else would you be avoiding me?”

“Because you’re leaving me!” she shouts with a shove.

A car honks behind her. He grabs her wrist just in time to pull her to him, having her crash into his chest just as the vehicle whizzes by. It’s only when he snaps out of his daze, hand cradling the back of her head, that he realizes she had begun to cry.

“Hey,” he whispers, “it’s okay. You’re okay, love.”

She shakes her head, wrapping her arms around him as she buries her face into his chest. 

“You know, all I’m asking for is that you talk to me.” Killian presses a kiss to her hair, holding her tight against him. “We talk about everything else. Why can’t we talk about this?”

Emma mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t catch before she unwraps her arms from his waist and looks up at him; her eyes still glisten with tears unshed. “You’re making me say goodbye to you,” she whispers. 

“This?” he says. “No, this isn’t goodbye. I’ll be back before you know it. My first stop back will be straight to Boston. Right to you. Liam can…” he shrugs. “He can pick me up from there. He won’t mind.”

She laughs and shakes her head before she throws her arms right back around his neck in a fierce hug. “I’m going to miss you.”

Killian hides his face in her shoulder. “I know,” he says with a sigh. 

“Hey!” Ruby’s voice comes from the door of the diner. “When you guys are done kissing and making up, we’d like you to join us!”

Emma and Killian pull away from each other, Killian ducking his head as he scratches behind his ear and lets the blush creep up his cheeks. Emma grabs his hand all the same, dragging him inside with her.

(He’s never been more relieved to have things go back to the way they usually are than he is right now.)

-/-

They’re more than glued at the hip the weeks before he goes.

He’s not too sure if it’s lessening the pain or making it grow.

-/-

Liam pulls up to the airport with just a few minutes to spare; he risks leaving his car parked at the curb because hey, it’s not JFK they’re at, so a taxi can wait a few minutes for him to say goodbye to his brother.

Even as Killian checks his duffel bag in at the desk, his hand doesn’t let go of Emma’s. It’s not until he’s to walk through the security line that he hesitates letting go. He takes two steps before he scoops her back up in his arms, hugging her as tightly as possible.

“You’re crushing me,” she says half-jokingly. He lets go with a small smile before he offers Liam a hug just the same. “Go,” Emma ushers him. “You don’t want to be late.”

His little brother’s never been the sentimental type, at least not when many people are around. So when he shouts back an, “I love you both!” Liam only shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and laughs, because he knows Killian must be scared shitless of the uncertainties to come.

When he glances over at Emma next to him, he sees her frozen in place. He looks over at his brother’s now disappearing form, shoes and tickets in hand as he rushes to find his gate.

“First time he’s said it, huh?” Liam says. Emma’s head turns up to look at him. “Figured you two had said it after that night you two—” The glare she gives him stops that sentence from even finishing. “Let’s just go. Are you hungry?” he asks as they make their way back to his car. “There’s this nice little café nearby.”

They only make it out of the airport before Emma mutters an, “I think I’m going to be sick,” and Liam pulls over to hold her hair while she pukes.

“My company’s not that bad, is it?”

She glares at him again.

“Right. Shutting up now.”

(Her world changes in more ways than one that day and she was prepared for neither of them.)

-/-

Emma sneaks to the pharmacy two nights later and thanks her lucky stars Mr. Clark sneezes when he gets to the pregnancy test and rings it up. It’s a pack of three and while before she would have thought it was idiotic to bundle three in one box she feels like she needs them all.

Ruby walks her home and urges her to call her as soon as she finds out and all Emma can do is weakly nod at the request before she runs inside and holes herself up in the bathroom.

She pees on the first stick.

(“Dammit.”)

She pees on the second stick.

(“No.”)

She pees on the third stick.

(“Why me?”)

She’s sick to her stomach again—and this time knows why.

“Emma?” Ingrid’s voice comes from the other side of the door. She’s been holed up in here for almost half an hour—a good fifteen minutes taking all three tests and a good rest of the time either puking or crying or _both_ —so she doesn’t blame Ingrid for being worried. “Emma, honey, are you okay in there?”

“No,” Emma’s voice croaks out.

Ingrid’s quick to undo the lock on the door; she finds Emma sitting on the bathroom floor, back against the tub, as she hugs her knees to her chest and hides her face against them. She crouches down to Emma’s level, brushing her hair behind her ears.

In that moment, she spots the pregnancy tests next to her—all three positive; all three belonging to Emma.

“I’m sorry,” the young girl whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Ingrid says, ushering Emma into her arms as she brushes her hair back. “It’s okay, I’ll be with you every step of the way. No matter what you decide, I’ll be right here with you.”

They’re the most comforting words she’s heard in forever.

-/-

He finds out when she’s six months along due to a letter in the mail containing nothing but a sonogram and three words.

(It’s a boy.)

When one of his newly acquired friends claps him on the back, sees the picture over his shoulder, and asks, “You having a kid?” all Killian can do is shrug.

(That’s the thing—he doesn’t know.) 

He doesn’t ask. The next time he talks to Emma, this time on the phone, she only mentions one thing—adoption.

-/-

Ingrid stays by her side when she gives birth, holding her hand as the doctor instructs Emma to push. She never planned on having a kid at eighteen yet here she is, screaming her lungs out as she pushes another human being out of her 

The doctor and nurse are both smiling as they hold the kid up. “It’s a healthy baby boy,” he says as the nurse takes the wailing baby away to be cleaned up.

She comes back a minute later with the child in hand and Emma looks away. “Do you want to hold him?” she asks, and Emma bites her lip to keep it from quivering as she looks away and shakes her head. That does nothing to stop the tears from falling regardless.

“Emma,” Ingrid says, brushing her hair back as she keeps her hand in her own, “Honey, it’s okay. Whatever you choose, I’ll be right here with you.”

“What if I’m not meant for this?” Emma asks. “What if I’m not meant to be a mom?”

“Oh sweetie.” Ingrid laughs lightly through her tears. “Anyone who wants to be a mom deserves the chance to be one. And if all you want to do is hold your baby boy one last time, you’re allowed to do that, too.”

Slowly, Emma looks back at the nurse still holding the bundle in her arms. Emma sits up slightly, nodding to the woman before she places him into her arms.

She doesn’t know who she sees in him—be it Killian or Neal or herself—but when he reaches out and latches onto her finger like he’ll never let go, she realizes one thing: she never wants to let go either.

Ingrid smiles, wiping away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. “See,” she says as the baby coos and plays with Emma’s finger, “You’re a natural.”

-/-

The woman who would have adopted her baby stops by later that day. Emma had kept in touch with Regina on and off throughout her pregnancy and had decided that she’d be the one.

“I’m not going through with it,” Emma blurts out after Regina’s sat down in the chair next to the bed.

Regina offers her a pleasant smile and takes a sip of her tea. “Oh, I figured as much. Your mother seemed very excited to have a new addition to her family.”

“She’s not my mother,” Emma’s quick to respond. “She’s like my older sister, really, but that’s besides the point.” Looking up at Regina, she sighs. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I held him today and everything changed.”

Regina nods. The woman just hit thirty and, after finding out that she wouldn’t be able to have children due to complications when she was younger, immediately turned to adoption. Emma felt for her, as a kindred spirit trying to make a family of her own, but was saddened all the same to feel as though she were ripping that chance away from her.

“Don’t apologize,” Regina says. She places her now empty plastic cup on the small table and gets up. “I saw the look in your eyes when you were holding him. I would never want to take that away from someone.” She reaches over and gives Emma’s hand a squeeze. “Plus, I’m still young. There’ll be other opportunities.”

Emma nods, squeezing her hand back before Regina makes her way out of the room. “Wait,” she says, stopping the woman as she’s reached the door. “He doesn’t…he doesn’t have a name yet. What would you—I mean, if it’s not rude of me to ask—what would you have named him?”

“Henry,” Regina says without hesitation. “He looks just like a Henry to me.” She turns back to Emma, hand on the door. “Just be sure to give him a strong middle name. Something that fits right alongside Henry.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, watching the woman go.

(Years later, when she’s walking Henry to the school bus, she bumps into Regina walking a small boy to the bus as well. “My son, Roland,” she introduces him, to which Emma replies with a simple, “Daniel.” Things worked out after all, in the end.)

-/-

He comes back into town for Henry’s christening. She made sure to invite him, made sure to send him two invitations—at two different intervals, in case he lost the first one—and reminded him during every phone call.

(Truth be told, when Liam informed her of the dates in which he’d be returning, she was quick to book the church and spread out the information. It even coincided with his birthday.)

The day he’s set to arrive, well, she’s a nervous wreck. She hasn’t seen her best friend in what feels like a year and can’t help but wonder if he’s changed all that much or if he’s still the same Killian from before.

“Hey,” Liam says as they head to the airport to pick him up, “You’re going to kick a hole into my seat if you don’t calm down a bit, love.”

Emma just glances out the window and keeps her fingers near Henry’s, letting the babbling baby play distractedly.

“Leave her be,” Elsa says to Liam (because they’re dating, it’s a thing, Emma’s still not sure how she feels about it but hey, it’s Elsa’s choice) before grabbing his hand, “I happen to recall someone else feeling rather nervous this morning as well.”

Liam grumbles something under his breath as he takes the turn into the terminal parking. The three of them, and the baby in tow, head for Killian’s scheduled arrival terminal. Elsa had grabbed Henry from Emma’s arms a few steps ago, leaving Emma to guide the way.

“What’s his flight number again?” Emma asks, standing in front of the arrival board as Liam digs through his phone. “Never mind, I found it.”

It landed ten minutes ago, which means he should be appearing at any moment. That doesn’t ease Emma’s nerves in the slightest as she keeps her eyes peeled for the younger Jones brother.

Ten minutes go by and still no sight of him. She scans the area surrounding them before she looks back at the doors. Almost immediately, her eyes hone in on him—a hint of a tan, lean, and way more facial hair than he had before (i.e. a barely there scruff at best).

She breaks into a run then, heading straight for his arms. Killian, with a grin on his face and those dimples to match, drops his duffel bag onto the ground and catches Emma in a hug, squeezing her tightly.

“I missed you,” she whispers against his skin, arms and legs wrapped around him to hold him tightly.

“There’s not a day that’s gone by that I haven’t thought of you as well, love,” he says, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck.

Liam’s cough behind Emma separates the two of them. She adjusts her jacket, as the two brothers join in a hug. Emma reaches for Henry, bundled up in a jacket to block the chilly spring breeze making its way through Maine. Killian offers Elsa a hug too before he turns to Emma and the baby in her arms.

“This must be that handsome lad I’ve been told about,” Killian says, extending his hands out to hold Henry. The boy immediately switches arms, looking at Killian with a smile and a giggle. He holds him close, cradling his head as he presses a kiss to his forehead. “Nice to finally meet you, Henry.”

(He spends the entire car ride back playing with Henry. Emma doesn’t dwell on the fact that it both breaks her heart and fills her with joy.)

-/-

“Emma Swan’s a mother,” he says, playing with baby Henry as he lies on the bed with him. On the other side of the bed, Emma goes through envelope after envelope of monetary gifts from the christening earlier. “Never though I’d see the day.”

“Hey!” she says, reaching over and smacking him with a card, but he laughs all the same. “I happen to be an okay mother, you got that? Still getting used to two am wake up calls from someone wanting to get milk out of me, but—hey!” she slaps him again, seeing him waggle his eyebrows. “Forget I said anything.”

Henry looks like he’s about to let out a wail, but with one quick reach over to the nightstand next to Emma, he grabs the bottle and begins to feed him. It frightens her how in-tune she is with him; how he’s only been back for three days but he already knows which cries mean food, which cries mean diaper, and which cries mean ‘hold me, I’m lonely’; how easily he’s loving her son and how easily her son’s loving him back.

(On her worst days, she sees scatterings of Neal—little bits and pieces she thinks could belong to him—but on her best days, oh, those days like today, all she sees is Killian shining through Henry. It puts a smile on her face and leaves an ache when it disappears.)

She wants to tell him she could have fed him easily herself (after all, they’re just boobs—ones he’s seen, none the less) but the way Killian’s been walking around with Henry all day, it only seemed fair not to take him away now. She wonders who’s gotten more attached now—Killian to Henry or Emma to the sight of Killian and Henry together.

“You know, Swan,” Killian says, looking up at her as Henry slowly drinks his bottle, “I never doubted you for a second.”

She’s speechless, and it’s not just because of Killian’s words, but the ease in which he picks up Henry once he’s done and burps him. And then, as if it’s second nature to him, he lies back and rests Henry on his chest. Emma follows suit, lying down on her side as a yawn takes over her.

“Get some rest, love,” he tells her. “I’m not letting you get away without doing something at midnight for my birthday.”

Emma smiles, eyelids slowly closing. She falls asleep curled up to his side like old times.

-/-

Midnight comes and finds the two of them sitting in her backyard, watching the stars. His head rests on her lap as her fingers thread through his hair and her free hand holds his own above his chest. She won't admit how much she misses this, too, and how in just one year their lives changed so drastically.

"You're officially nineteen," she says, glancing over at the baby monitor next to her that flashes the time. “How do you feel?”

He laughs, eyes darting over to hers. “Am I supposed to feel any different?”

She shrugs. “Wrong age, I guess.” He laughs all the same and she taps his chest. “Just watch the stars, Jones. It’s the only bit of quiet I’ve got today.”

His eyes don’t leave her face, as he’s mesmerized by the way the moonlight hits her features. And then, in the silence of the spring night, he blurts out what he’s been itching to say since he got back.

“I’m leaving in a week.”

“I know,” Emma says.

“No, I mean,” he says as he scrambles up to sit and face her, “I’m leaving. They’ve stationed me somewhere already. I’ll be on a ship for the better part of two years.”

Her face falls, and all she can manage to say is a simple, “Oh.”

When a cry comes from the baby monitor, Killian’s quick to get up and attend it. He disappears back inside; moments later, she hears Henry’s cries quiet down as Killian begins to mumble something to him.

(What she wouldn’t do for a shooting star right now.)

-/-

(He doesn’t let go of Henry’s hand the entire ride to the airport, and when he gets out of the car, he’s the first to reach for Henry, too. It breaks her heart when the lady at the counter says, “Your son’s precious,” and Killian doesn’t correct her but smiles with a quiet “Thanks.” It breaks her heart even more when Henry starts to cry as he goes.)

(He finds the picture of him, Henry, and Emma tucked inside his wallet when he pays for his coffee. He almost cries there, too.)

-/-

Even if he’s away, those two years are spent near bliss. He talks to Liam and Emma (and Henry) once every other week and it’s almost like he gets to see the boy growing right before his eyes.

He’s over the moon when he gets to be there for Henry’s first words, or when he gets to see his first steps in action.

“She misses you, brother,” Liam says one day. “More than she’d care to admit to anyone.”

“I miss her, too,” he responds. “I…I think I’m going to tell her, when I get back.” 

Even Liam’s ecstatic, too, because his little brother deserves some happiness, too. “It’s taken you long enough,” he mutters.

-/-

He gets wind that Neal’s back in town—not from her or his brother or anyone between them but from _David Nolan_ of all people.

Out of all of them in the group, he was closest to David (second to Emma, of course). Sure, the two only talked every so often, what with Killian in the Navy and David off in college, but Dave was the type of guy who he could pick up right where he left off. Nowadays, he needed more friends like that than he ever thought before.

“We were all shocked, really, seeing him and Emma sitting at the diner together.”

(He’s not. He shouldn’t be. Emma never told him who’s Henry’s father, but he’s smart enough to put two and two together. At least, he thinks he is.)

“Thanks, mate.”

His impulsivity gets the best of him. He calls Liam that week and tells him the news—the Emma spotted with Neal news, the ‘I don’t know if I’m the father news’, and the really important news—three more years at sea.

Liam yells at him until he’s sure his older brother’s blue in the face for being the world’s biggest idiot for jumping the gun before he hears an exasperated sigh from the other line and a quiet, “Be safe, I’ll talk to you soon.”

He doesn’t tell Emma for another two weeks and hates himself when she ignores his news to tell him about the night Neal randomly showed up back in town and bumped into her at the diner just to disappear all over again. 

He blames himself for the pain in her voice all day.

-/-

The next time Killian’s back in town happens to be just two days shy of Emma’s twenty-fourth birthday. They’ve been okay these past three years—as okay as you can be while being apart from your best friend—so to see Liam alone at the airport when he had spoken to Emma less than a week ago (and she had told him she’d be there) throws him off.

“Is she working today?” Killian asks as he throws his bag into the trunk of Liam’s car. “She told me she’d be here.”

He commends his best friend, he truly does. With Henry staring school and Emma finding herself with some free time, she found a job helping out at the sheriff’s station. He won’t even get into the night classes she’s decided to take online at the community college a few towns over. Leave it to Emma Swan not to let anything hold her down.

“Things aren’t going so well, little brother,” Liam informs him as he slips into the car. He looks over at Killian, offering him a smile before he starts the car up and leaves the airport. “Long story short she…she’s found her birth parents.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. He knows nothing of these people except for what she’s told them, but he’s hated them ever since he found that worn out article she’s kept in a box all these years about a week old baby abandoned at the side of the road.

“Do you mind if we postpone our lunch plans?” Killian asks, seeing his brother drive by the exit.

“Not at all.”

Their next stop ends up being her place. Liam drops him off at the front gate with the promise of meeting up for dinner instead before he drives back home. Adjusting his jacket, Killian makes his way to the front door and knocks. No one answers. He rings the bell this time, but still gets no answer. When he reaches for the doorknob, he finds it unlocked.

“Hello?” he calls out, stepping inside of the still pristine house. He shuts the door behind him as he leaves his shoes by the door, hell-bent on finding Emma. That quest doesn’t take long; the minute he steps onto the landing of the stairs, he hears a soft patter of feet at the top of the staircase. “Emma.”

Her eyes are puffy and red from what he can only assume are shed tears earlier. So he takes the stairs two at a time before he reaches her, enveloping her in his embrace seconds after.

She doesn’t cry, not at all, but holds onto him tightly and burrows her face into the crook of his neck. He does the same, breathing in her soap and shampoo and hint of perfume she used from time to time.

(He’s ready to blurt it out right now.)

“She knew,” Emma’s soft voice reaches his ears. “She knew all along and didn’t tell me.” He’s stunned at her words. Feeling her pull away, he offers her a tight-lipped smile before he sees her walk toward her room and mumble something about how she needs to, “Finish packing.”

He follows her and stops by the door, seeing most of her and Henry’s stuff in boxes. So that’s what she meant by that. He’s not one to get in the middle of a family dispute but hell, Emma’s family and he’ll always be in her corner. So he asks her if she needs help and when she nods, he helps tape up the boxes to set them aside.

(Emma’s just like him in the hotheaded department, so he knows she has to go through the motions to cool off.)

“I have to go pick up Henry,” she says half an hour later. Killian picks up his discarded jacket from the bed and tells her he’ll join her but she’s quick to protest. “It’s just down the block, I can go myself.”

“And have me miss the lad getting off the bus? Swan, you can’t strip away all the pleasures from a man’s life,” he teases.

“If getting a chance to be Super-Dad is your pleasure, who am I to take that away from you,” she says with a small smile.

“Exactly right,” he counters, helping her into her jacket before following her downstairs.

She’s right about the walk only being down the block; it’s only when they arrive that he realizes why she’d be hesitant of him tagging along. There, near the corner, stand a group of mothers. The youngest one looks to be at least in her mid-thirties, all of them looking like the epitome of ‘Stepford wife meets soccer mom’. He understands her discomfort then and honestly doesn’t blame her.

In fact, he does one better. While they stand there, waiting for the bus to arrive, he reaches over and grabs her hand. He gives it a squeeze and from the corner of his eye he sees her shoulders relax.

He wonders how many times Ingrid’s done this in the past two months; if it’s been her standing alongside Emma so she could be the one to shoulder the looks, whispers, everything these mothers had made up about Emma and shared in their book club.

The bus pulls up a few minutes later and almost immediately Killian catches sight of Henry. The poor kid has his forehead pressed against the window, probably praying to get off the bus. He doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up when their eyes lock, or the way Henry rushes off the bus into Killian’s arms.

He grabs onto Killian’s hand as they walk back to the house, Henry immediately telling him about his day and how he loves his teacher and everything else he hasn’t told him since the last time they spoke.

(Let’s see what they talk about now.)

Ingrid’s standing on the front porch, arms nervously crossed in front of her, when they arrive. Killian volunteers to prepare Henry lunch, leaving Emma and Ingrid outside. 

“If you have something to say, make it quick,” Emma says, standing on the opposite side of the front porch.

“You’ve started to pack,” Ingrid points out. “Have you found a place yet?”

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but no, not yet. Henry and I can manage at Granny’s for the time being.”

“Emma—”

“What!” she snaps. “What could you possibly say to make any of this better now?”

So Ingrid tells her everything—about how she found her parents a year after taking her in, how she confronted them for what they did to Emma, how they held no remorse because they were better off now. She tells her about the adoption papers she had kept in her room all these years, about how she didn’t want to chase Emma away by forcing a family on her.

“Papers or no papers, the minute you walked through this door you’ve been family.” 

Inside, Killian’s tried and failed to keep Henry away from the argument brewing outside. He’s made sure the young boy’s kept his distance enough not to let them know they’ve been watching. He can’t stop Henry from running up to the window, so he follows, seeing Emma and Ingrid embrace.

“Are things going to be okay?”

“Of course, lad. Things always work out for the better.”

Emma’s wiped away the tears by the time she’s come back inside to announce that they’re heading to the diner for lunch instead. Killian’s ready to excuse himself but with the look Henry throws him and Emma’s insistence that _yes, you’re family so of course you’re coming along_ he knows he can’t get out of this one even if he wanted to.

-/-

“Look at you,” Liam says over dinner. “Captain Fix-It." 

“Still a lieutenant,” Killian corrects. “And they fixed it all on their own.”

“Have you told her yet?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Sometime this century, brother.”

-/-

He visits her at work the next day, wanting to see her in action. There’s not much to working at the tiny sheriff’s station of their town; the majority of her day, from what he witnesses when he stops by, revolves around answering calls, doing her homework, and planning at least one patrol around town to make sure nothing’s come out of the woods yet.

“You never told me you worked with Graham,” he says when they make a pit stop at Granny’s for lunch.

He smiles at the fact that her usual’s still her usual and how Granny doesn’t even bother asking for his own order before she returns with two plates of grilled cheese, fries, and onion rings.

“Humbert as sheriff? That’s a sight I never thought I’d witness this lifetime.”

“Hey,” Emma says, digging into her onion rings. “He’s a pretty decent sheriff for a small town like ours. It’s not like we’re overflowing with crime here.”

“I’m not sure, Swan. I did see a man jaywalking earlier and you did nothing but stop to let him cross.”

She reaches over for one of his fries and flicks it at him but he catches it with his teeth before shooting her a wink.

They spend the rest of lunch like that—all winks and flirtatious tone and even Granny giving them a look.

When it’s time for dessert, if they can even eat dessert with how stuffed they are, Emma gets a call.

Her eyes never leave Killian’s as Graham explains to her what happened, tells her the paramedics are already at the scene transporting the victim to the hospital, tells her she should be the one to break the news.

“Swan?” Killian asks with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong? What did he say?”

“There’s been an accident at the docks. They’ve rushed Liam to the hospital.”

Killian’s already running out the door, jacket in hand, as she struggles to get money out of her pocket to follow him. Granny waves her off and ushers her out before she breaks into a jog to follow him.

They make it to the hospital in record time. 

(If you were ask Killian, it’d be too late.)


	3. three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...if you're still around after all the time that's passed, I thank you immensely.  
> If you've just arrived, welcome aboard!
> 
> As always, feedback on this is greatly appreciated! So feel free to leave some once you're done reading!

_Coma. Coma. Coma._

The word repeats through Killian's mind like a sick mantra, ringing in his ears blocking out all else. Even as Dr. Whale explains what happened, all Killian can think about is how it should be him.

He was the one who went to fight the good fight. He should be the one all bandaged up, tubes sticking out of him every which way. He should be the one clinging that fine line between life and death.

"Killian?"

He looks up from his brother's form, finding Elsa and Emma at the door.

"Elsa's here to take over," Emma says.

He makes no effort to move. He hasn't made an effort to move since Liam was brought back from surgery and that was how many days ago?

"You've been sitting there for two days and I know you haven’t gotten up once to eat."

Right, two days.

“Ingrid’s made your favorite back at home,” she adds. He feels her then, hand on his shoulder. “I know what you’re doing and I know Liam wouldn’t want you to do that. So just come home with me. Please?”

He looks up to see her pleading face before rubbing his own and getting up.

"You'll call me if anything changes?"

"Of course," Elsa says, giving his arm a squeeze as she takes his once vacant spot in the chair.

Emma leads him out of the room with a hand gripping his arm, his own hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

-/-

Everything tastes like cardboard. He thanks Ingrid all the same before excusing himself to head back home for the night.

Emma follows him out onto the porch when he goes.

“I can keep you company, if you want,” she offers. “I know how you get being alone in that house.”

Killian turns back to her. “Stay with your boy, Swan. I can handle one night on my own.”

She nods, taking a step back toward the door.

(He’s retreating, but she’s no better by doing the same.)

“Hey,” he says, stepping forward. “I’ll call you if I need anything, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She never gets a call that night. It’s probably for the best.

-/-

When two days pass without Emma so much as receiving a text from Killian, she grows concerned. After a call with Elsa confirms her suspicions—that he hadn’t been around the hospital—Emma springs into action. She calls Ingrid to pick up Henry at the bus stop and lets Graham know that she won’t be able to come back after her scheduled pick up time.

By the time Emma reaches the Jones’ front door, she’s worked herself up into a tizzy. Knowing him, knowing the way Killian Jones handled things, he’s probably been busying himself with anything he could get his hands on in that house.

She raps the door three times and then another three more when she gets no answer from him. Finding the spare key under the festive skull by the steps, she unlocks the door and calls out his name as she steps inside.

The sight she’s met with when she enters the house breaks her heart.

Two empty bottles of rum rest on the coffee table as Killian lays passed out on the couch. As she nears him, she spots the third bottle, half empty, in his loose hold.

She drops the key onto the coffee table and shrugs out of her jacket before she’s by his side, fingers brushing along his jaw as she takes the bottle from his grasp and moves it behind her.

That stirs him; he reaches out and grabs her as he mumbles something that sounds like, “Give it back, Liam.”

“It’s not…” she begins to say, but her voice falls flat and her words fall short as she gets choked up because in his haze it’s like he’s momentarily forgotten. “It’s me,” she says. “It’s Emma.”

“He’ll kill me when he gets back,” he tells her as he sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“He’s not…” Emma says as she gets up from her crouched position. “Killian, he’s still in the hospital. You know that, right?”

The haze lifts from him almost instantly and it breaks her heart even more to know she’s the one that reminded him. She’s the one that brought back the pain.

He gets up from the couch abruptly and heads straight for the stairs. No amount of calling his name stops him; in fact, it just quickens his pace as he heads upstairs. The _slam_ of the door echoes through the house, jolting Emma in place.

When she follows him, she finds all of the doors wide open—except for the one to the bathroom. It’s quiet as she knocks on the door. When she calls out his name again, she only hears the _smash_  and _crunch_ of something awful on the other side.

She quickly throws the door open, finding Killian heaving over the sink as shattered bits and pieces of the mirror litter the bowl.

“It should be me,” he whispers as a tear leaves his eye. She notices the bloodied knuckles of his right hand as he grips the sink even tighter. “I should be the one on that bed, clinging on for life. But it’s him and I…I can’t lose him, Emma.”

She’s by his side again, hand rubbing his back as she tries her hardest not to cry in front of him, to soothe him any way she can.

“He’s my brother. He’s all I’ve got left.”

She pulls him back from the sink, leading him to the covered toilet seat to sit him down as he continues to mumble, “I can’t lose him,” over and over.

She’s quick to walk to the tub, turning on the water and putting the stopper in place before she’s leaning down in front of him. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

As Emma reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, Killian’s quick to stand. For someone with that much liquor coursing through their system, he’s awful steady on his feet.

She only manages a “What are you—” before his lips are on hers. His hands cup her face and she finds herself gravitating toward him, her own lips parting to give way to his seeking tongue as she leans up on her tiptoes.

Just as soon as it begins, it ends. He pulls away abruptly, leaving Emma chasing his lips in a daze.

“I’m sorry, that was—”

“It’s okay, I should—”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

She casts her eyes down before nodding, taking a step back and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll go see what I can make you for lunch.”

He nods.

Emma heads out of that bathroom faster than she thought possible.

-/-

He can’t stop thinking about it. Stripping down and sinking into the tub, he still feels the tingle on his lips from when he kissed Emma moments ago.

He’s felt too much since he got the news about Liam. He sought out the numbness with rum.

But for a split second, a flicker of a moment, he felt something other than hurt. He felt something other than the gnawing ache in his chest at the uncertainty of his brother’s condition.

(It felt like hope.)

 _You’re being stupid_ , he tells himself.

He wets his face and sinks further into the tub.

(He wants more.)

-/-

When more than half an hour passes before she sees Killian, Emma heads back upstairs to look for him. She walks by his bedroom to search for him in the bathroom and catches sight of him from the corner of her eye. Stopping, she turns around and heads back to his room.

“Hey,” she says, leaning by the door. “Your food’s getting cold.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, blank stare on his face as he sits on the bed. He’s half dressed, hair still damp while a few strands stick to his forehead.

“It’s fine. That’s what microwaves are for.”

“No.” He shakes his head, looking up at her. “I’m sorry for what I did back there. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Killian—”

“And your birthday,” he continues. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday.”

“Don’t—”

“Let me finish,” he interrupts her. “I need to say this before it’s too late. Because if something happens to you and I don’t have a chance to say this, I don’t know if I could live with myself.”

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach before she rushes over to him and leans forward, resting her hands on his lap. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” she assures him.

“You don’t know that!” he snaps, getting up from the bed. “Liam used to say that to me and look at where he’s now!”

“And what were you going to do? Hmm?” she yells back. “What could you have done to stop this?”

He’s silent, eyes watering as he looks over at her. She doesn’t hesitate to walk over to him, wrapping her arms around him.

“It was an accident,” she whispers. “There’s nothing you could have done about this.”

He stays silent but wraps his arms around her and buries his face in the crook of her neck all the same.

-/-

He shows up at her front door a few days later—completely sober—and asks to accompany her and Henry trick-or-treating.

Henry’s at the door in an instant, showing Killian his personalized trick-or-treat bag made at school.

It’s not like she was going to say no, anyway.

“Swan,” Killian says, holding her back with a hand on her arm as Henry approaches the last house on that block. “About the other day.” He casts his eyes down and scratches behind his ear. “I’d like to thank you. For being there for me.”

Emma offers him a warm smile. “You’re my best friend. So there’s that whole, ‘nothing I wouldn’t do for you’ thing coming into play here.”

“Aye,” he says with a light laugh and a smile in return. “And I for you.”

His hand’s back in his pocket as Henry comes back, raving about the full-sized candy bars Mr. Clark handed out to everyone. She can’t help but laugh as Killian grabs one to inspect it, only to pawn it off as his for the remainder of the night.

(It’s happening again. She’s growing attached to the idea of Henry and Killian together.

This time, unlike the last, she’s not quick to fight it.)

-/-

Thanksgiving arrives, and so do the punches. He’s fine during the day, helps out Ingrid with the stuffing and the turkey and keeps Henry busy so that he’s not running around the kitchen wondering when food’s done.

They make it past the parade and past the game with ease, but something shifts once Ingrid calls for dinner.

She should have noticed he was bottling it all up when he stared at Liam’s empty spot with dread when they were first seated.

So when he thanks Ingrid for a lovely dinner and excuses himself before dessert, she’s not surprised he grabs his jacket and leaves.

“I’ll be back soon,” Emma says, grabbing her own jacket from the coat rack and slipping on her shoes.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Henry asks, following her to the door.

“Yeah he’s…” she sighs, crouching down to his level. “We’re all just dealing with Uncle Liam’s condition differently.”

Henry nods, holding onto Elsa’s hand as he watches his mother disappear.

When Emma arrives at his house she finds him in the kitchen, nothing short of causing a storm. Cabinet doors are all thrown open, contents of some strewn about on the counter.

“How in the bloody hell is there not an ounce of alcohol in this place?!” he shouts, slamming a door shut. He moves to the next one, rummaging through it as he comments, “Not a drop! How is that possible?”

He slams another one shut and then a third before he’s going off in a tirade about how “O _f course we got rid of all the alcohol after my father left”_ and “ _Did you know Liam got really bad once”_ and “ _God, if he were here right now he’d curse up a storm for making this kitchen a mess_.”

“Killian…” she says, voice barely above a whisper as her eyes follow him about the kitchen.

He’s worked himself into a frenzy and won’t stop. She’s quick to act. She walks over to him, grabs the lapels of his jacket and presses her lips to his in a kiss.

He stills for a moment before reacting, fingers reaching to thread themselves into her golden locks as his lips move in sync with hers.

There’s a brief interlude, a quick, “Why did you do that?” to which she responds with an out of breath, “Because you need to stop thinking,” before his lips are back on hers.

His tongue feels like pure fire against her own. Like an addictive flame she wants to keep approaching, her own tongue moves against his as she deepens the kiss. The brief kiss shared between them a few weeks ago was nothing compared to this.

(It still left a burn on her lips, because it's Killian for crying out loud.)

His hand, the one that isn't already tangled in her golden locks, trails down her back. He stops at the small of her back, holding her in place as presses against her.

And then she’s touching him, feeling him in ways she hasn’t felt him since their first time together—their only time together.

"Swan," he moans, and she's unsure if it's a plea to go or stop.

(God, what if she misread the situation? Fuck, she's an idiot. She's really done it now.)

"Not yet." He guides her hand to the wall behind them, lacing his fingers with hers. "Not before you."

She curses his accuracy—and memory, at that—because it’s not long before she’s a goner, completely lose and coming undone underneath his touch.

(She's had one-night stands before, things she's erased from her memory just as soon as they happened because she's human and needed them, but she's never erased her time with him. Because she's never been with anyone like him, and even if it was only one night, only her first time, she's never been with anyone that's matched Killian at all.)

"I need to hear you," he says against her neck. She holds her bottom lip between her teeth because she thinks she's seeing stars and dear Lord she hasn't felt like this in ages.

"Emma," he says, pressing a kiss to her chin. "Please."

(She only came here for him, to drag him back for dessert and take his mind off whatever caused him to disappear like a ghost and now, well, it’s kind of funny that she’s  _ coming _ for him, too.)

She has no time to question his next move, his name leaving her lips in a breathless gasp as he closes the distance between them once more. “I need you,” he mumbles, pulling away from her lips as she chases them with a nod. “Emma, I—”

“I’m yours,” she tells him. “Whatever you need, I’m yours.”

(He could ask her to walk to the moon, could ask her anything, and she’d give it to him—and not because of this, because of what’s happening in his kitchen—but because she needs him to be okay. She needs him to know he’s not alone.)

“I just need you.”

(Whatever’s happening in this kitchen has her feeling like they’re back in high school again, like she didn’t just have one night with him that may or may not have resulted in the beautiful boy that tends to think of him as a father more than anything else.)

She nods, and that's all she has to do before he’s taking them both to his room. He places her down on the floor before he’s cupping her face and kissing her again, slow and gentle and driving her mad all the same.

But she’s not patient like he is, because yes she’s had her fair share of nights out in these last some odd years but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been a long time since she’s…well,  _ that _ . 

“Do you…?” she begins to ask, glancing down, unable to look at him despite everything going on right now. 

“Yeah,” Killian responds quickly. “Of course. Just a second.”

He leaves his shoes and jeans and shirt in a pile on the floor before he’s running out of his room in nothing but his boxer briefs in search of a condom.

_ Just one _ , he tells himself, sifting through the cabinets in the bathroom.  _ Just one, that’s all I need. _

His search there proves futile and he groans before going for his last ditch effort. When he lucks out and finds a few in one of Liam’s nightstand drawers, he can’t help but thank his brother for always having his back.

“You don’t want to know where I found this—”

He forgets how to form sentences at the sight of her, naked, filled out in all the right places, and God, if he wasn’t in deep before he sure as hell is now.

“Nothing’s going to happen with you just standing there, Jones.”

(See, the thing is, Killian’s had his fair share of nights out, random instances that have meant nothing in the grand or small scheme of things because he’s been in love with Emma since before he can remember, so it’s suffice to say that he’s never been rendered speechless quite like this.)

His lips are on hers in an instant; he’s hungry for her, need pooling bigger and bigger inside of him. He’s so focused on her, on his tongue finding hers, warm and wet and consuming him. 

Sometime between him kissing her and him now on the bed, she’s managed to take control of the situation. She’s like a goddess above him, blonde hair cascading around her shoulders as she slips it onto him.

(Would now be a good enough time to tell her?)

The thought slowly moves to the back of his mind as she envelops him and begins to work up a rhythm, hellbent on having them both find their release, together, before he takes back the moment and flips them over. Once, twice, three times more and then he has her coming undone, following close behind.

(She swears she hears it then—a faint, “Gods, I love you,” against her skin—but she doesn’t know, she isn’t sure, and she’s too afraid to take the chance on being the first one if he didn’t.)

“Thank you,” he says, breathing heavily as his body sinks into the bed next to her.

_Anytime_ and _What are friends for?_ don’t exactly fit this situation so she nods and lifts his arm to tuck herself into his side like old times. The drumming of his heartbeat against her ear proves more comforting than she thought.

(Friends don’t do this. Friends don’t do what they do then carry on like nothing happened. She’s been pretending it isn’t the case, that it hasn’t been the case for years, but pretending’s not working so good right now.)

“Why did you leave?”

The index finger tracing patterns across his chest stills as he moves to run his hand through his hair before throwing his arm over his eyes.

“It was too much without him there.”

She props her head up on her elbow next to him as a gentle, “Killian,” leaves her lips.

“I paid a visit to him this morning,” he says, arm shifting back to the pillow above him as he keeps his eyes on the ceiling. “The doctor took it upon himself to bombard me with forms they failed to give me upon his initial arrival.”

He moves his arm from its position around her, sits up, and rubs his face, blinking back tears.

“And then he spoke to me about the possibility of taking him off life support if I—” He rubs his eyes with a frustrated groan. “If the roles were reversed, I’ve no doubt Liam wouldn’t entertain the idea. He gave up everything for me after our father left. I can’t…I can’t fathom a world without my brother in it.”

(Killian’s only ever cried twice before in his life—once when their mother passed and another when their father abandoned them—so it doesn’t come as a shock to him that he’s crying now over the very real possibility of losing the only person that got him through both traumatic experiences in one piece.)

Emma sits up against him, slipping her arm through his to lace her fingers with his own as her chin rests on his shoulder.

“What do you want to do?”

He turns his head slightly to look over at her, small smile gracing his face. “Honestly? I just want to sleep.”

She nods, shifting to get off the bed. He’s quick to tug her back, stilling her in place.

“Stay with me?”

“Of course.”

Her body curls over his as he keeps their fingers laced over his chest. His breathing evens out as he begins to doze off, and she presses another kiss to his shoulder before she does the same.

(The seven missed calls from Elsa they stumble upon after awaking—along with the voicemail she left threatening to make all desserts disappear if they didn’t return soon—are worth it.)

-/- 

He moves in a week later. It’s not brought up in some dramatic, over the top, “Please move in because I need you,” way.

It’s not even brought up by Emma at all.

No, Killian Jones moves in because Ingrid brings it up nonchalantly over dinner.

A simple, _“Stay here with us,”_ is all she says. An, _“I know that house gets too quiet when you’re alone. Liam’s told us so,”_  helps and a very convincing, “ _You’re here for two meals a day, I know you haven’t bought groceries,”_ seals the deal.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Who’s really going to argue with Ingrid, anyway? He packs a bag that night and takes up residence in Henry’s room for the time being.

Henry makes a fuss because he’s losing his own room and protests with a, “Why can’t he just sleep with mom in her room? Her bed’s bigger, anyway!” rendering those two aforementioned adults as red as tomatoes.

(That comes from the same Henry who’s first thought at the sound of Killian staying them for a while was to bring up, jovially, how Killian would now definitely be able to walk him to the bus stop every morning.)

(God, he loves that kid.)

-/- 

She avoids him like the plague the first three nights he stays with them. All interactions between them happen in broad daylight and before everyone has gone off to bed. She knows he knows she’s avoiding him but barely a week ago they… _y’know_ …and they haven’t really talked much about it since.

That is, until he practically sneaks up on her one night in the kitchen while Emma’s halfway through getting the jelly just right on her sandwich.

She turns to him with the knife in hand and he holds his hands up quickly.

“Right,” he says. “Shouldn’t have done that. You’d think living down the hall from the town’s deputy would influence me to make better choices.”

“I’m not the…” she begins to say but trails off and shakes her head because she’s the only other person working at the station and she does go out on patrol often enough so yeah, that technically makes her the deputy.

(That probably explains why Graham left the badge on her desk with no explanation two weeks ago. She should probably put that on tomorrow.)

“Did you want something?” she asks, closing the jar of grape jelly to place it back in the fridge.

“To talk,” he says and her hand stills on the jar inside the fridge immediately. “If you’d like to talk to me, that is. Or if you prefer to just listen and nonverbally respond, I’ll accept that as well.”

Her shoulders relax as she sighs, shutting the refrigerator a second later.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Emma says. He glances down to the opened textbooks on the kitchen table. She walks back to her sandwich and—with the same knife she defended herself with—cuts the sandwich in half. “But I could use the break.”

She holds out one triangle to him and keeps one for herself. Killian, as always, reaches for the one she’s kept and shoots her a wink as he takes a bite. She shakes her head and smiles all the same.

“About the other night,” he begins to say, eyes on hers—which are conveniently on her sandwich and nowhere else, “What happened between us—”

“Was a thing that happened,” she’s quick to interject. Her eyes never leave that damn sandwich and never in his life has he wanted to be a damn sandwich more than he has now. “It happens between friends sometimes. We don’t have to make it a bigger deal than it is.”

“What if I want it to be?” he says. He puts his sandwich down on the plate she’s set aside on the counter. “What if I want it to be something that happens between not friends—again?”

Emma furrows her brows and (finally!) looks up at him from that (damn!) sandwich. “Are you saying you don’t want to be friends with me anymore?”

“Of course I want to be friends with you,” he retorts. “What makes you think I bloody wouldn’t?”

“You just said _want_ and _not friends_ in the same sentence,” she replies. “I’m just going by what you said here. And if that’s how you feel then—”

Killian rolls his eyes. He’s never rolled his eyes at Emma Swan—he’s never dared to roll his eyes at her—but now seems like the perfect time to do so. And then he removes the distance between them and slants his lips over hers because it’s all he can think to do to get his point across.

He hears the _splat_ of bread on hardwood floor before her hands come up between them, lying flat on his chest. After the initial shock, she kisses him back with a hunger that was meant for that sandwich now past the five-second salvageable rule.

(It was a really good sandwich, too. The kind with the peanut butter on both sides and the jelly in the middle and just enough crust not to make you hate it. Oh well.)

“That,” he says as he slowly pulls away, hands on either side of her face to keep her close. “That’s what I’d like again.”

She nods, smiling, giggling, eyes shining as she looks up at him. Then she glances back down at his lips and leans up to capture his with her own.

 _Again_.

He pushes her back against the counter, lips moving against her own. He could do this all night if she lets him.

Truthfully, that’s the plan—up until a small, sleep-ridden voice letting out a soft, “Mom,” from the kitchen entryway has them jumping apart like they’re both fire and both burned at the same time.

“Hey kid,” Emma says, taking a step in front of Killian’s back to direct Henry’s attention. “What are you doing up so late? I thought I tucked you into bed already.”

“I had a nightmare,” Henry replies, yawning as he continues to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Can I stay down here with you until you come back to bed?”

Emma sighs. This wouldn’t be an issue if she and her son weren’t polar opposites when it came to their need for a nightlight—that is, Emma needs total darkness to sleep while Henry needs at least something shining to keep those bad dreams at bay.

“I’ll stay down here as well and keep the lad company while you finish your work,” Killian pipes up from behind her. “Come on. We’ll just be quiet while your mother works.”

And in Killian’s typical ‘I’m-so-in-sync-with-Henry-it’s-no-longer-funny’ fashion, when he picks Henry up, his head rests on his shoulder like it’s meant to be there. His small hands grip his biceps and as soon as Killian sits down, Henry’s almost out like a light.

“Back to work, love,” he says, and she sinks into her seat with a smile. “No distractions out of us. That I can promise you.”

(She would have been this close to forgetting the sandwich on the floor if it weren’t for Killian, though.)

-/- 

He accompanies them to Henry’s Christmas play at school. Well, it’s not so much a play but a bunch of classes at his grade school performing Christmas carols (with a few Hanukkah songs thrown here and there for the holiday).

The students and parents gather in the classroom afterword, treats having been brought in from each family to share.

It’s no surprise to Emma that Killian knows how to work the room; after he catches up with Mary Margaret—who teaches fourth graders here—he spends time talking to Henry’s own teacher.

She can’t help the smile that forms on her own face as she watches him light up while being shown some of Henry’s accomplishments around the room.

“I’m happy,” Henry says after he takes a bite of his sugar cookie. She leans over and wipes some crumbs from his shirt before responding with a question of her own. “For you,” he answers in response. “Killian’s happy and he makes you happy, so I’m happy.”

Emma really does thank her lucky stars she was blessed with a kid as great as Henry.

“So you’re okay with whatever’s going on between me and him?” she asks.

Henry nods, takes a sip of his milk, and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Grandma and Aunt Elsa don’t seem to mind. Plus, it’s been kind of nice having a dad around the house.”

 _A dad_.

To say she’s floored at the sound of that would be an understatement. She looks over at him, animatedly talking to the teacher and another parent, and her eyes well up with unshed tears because _yes_ he’s been nothing but a dad to Henry since the moment he laid eyes on him.

“Yeah it has, hasn’t it?” she responds, eyes still glued to his form. He looks over at Emma then and throws a smirk in her direction before he’s nodding along to whatever comment the teacher’s made.

“So does this mean I can get my room back now?”

Emma almost spits out her milk.

(They end up moving Killian’s stuff into Emma’s room and Henry’s back into his later that night.)

-/- 

Christmas Eve comes in the blink of an eye. The visit to Liam that morning hurts less than he imagined. Hours pass as he sits there, recounting Halloween and Thanksgiving and the weeks between then and now to his older brother.

“Would it be too soon to ask her to marry me?” Killian asks in thought.

His only answer comes in the form of the incessant yet steady beeps of the machines attached to Liam. He sighs and shakes his head, getting up from his chair with a smile once he realizes the time.

“Of course. You’re right brother,” he says. “I should ask her out on a date first.”

He doesn’t, not yet at least. But that doesn’t stop him from planning what could be the perfect first date all the way home.

-/- 

He’s too wrapped up in the holiday—and the look on Henry’s face when he opens up the Lego set of a pirate ship he got the lad Christmas morning—to ask her out on a date and when they tuck themselves into bed that night all he can think about is the way she feels in his arms and how he never wants to let her go.

He thinks about asking her then, in the wee hours of the night, her nose buried in the crook of his neck, but as he opens his mouth to let the words fall out a soft snore escapes from hers.

(He swears he hears something like an “I love you” but convinces himself it was just a sigh in exhale and the wind outside before the sun comes up.)

-/- 

Just like that, with one single letter and one single phrase, the bubble of happiness he’s been oh so careful with cracks like glass.

He might not remember much from back home but he does remember this: the post doesn’t normally come on Boxing Day.

(He had a feeling this was all too good to be true anyway. A guy like Killian Jones isn’t meant for a family and a happy ending—and he isn’t meant for Emma Swan, either.)


	4. four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pick up where we left off. Liam, still in a coma. Killian, still hiding the letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been more than a year. Believe me, I've been keeping track just as much as you have. Please, feel free to read everything again. I welcome all of your thoughts, your concerns, your screams, and everything else you'll want to share with me.

As the post-Christmas/pre-New Year’s Eve snowfall begins to pick up with the wind, covering the bottom edges of the window of the hospital room, a red-headed nurse continues her morning rounds.

Checking the numbers on the machine, she writes them down with frown. The numbers read the same as they have for the last couple of days, with no sign of change.

“It’d be nice to see your eyes one of these days.” She walks over to the other side of his bed to look over the other machines.

“Oh, I should introduce myself!” She points to the name tag on her scrubs. “Ariel,” she says softly. “That’s my name. We should be on first name basis considering you’re the first patient I see when I make my way around this place.”

They switched the rotations two days before Christmas and while many nurses usually weren’t a fan of the comatose patients, Ariel didn’t mind.

Sure, the constant beeping of the machines, the whirring and hisses from the ventilator are enough to drive anyone mad on a day to day basis but if the loved ones of the patients can put up with it when they visit, so can she.

She’s in the midst of scribbling down a few notes, some for the doctor, some for herself, when the door flies open. In walks a woman, flustered at the sight of her.

“Hi,” she says, extending her hand out to the visitor. “Ariel. Mr. Jones’s new nurse.”

“You can call him Liam,” the woman says, giving Ariel’s hand a quick shake. “He’d prefer it.”

Ariel nods, jotting that down for herself. She can see the hesitancy in her stance clear as day. Quickly excusing herself, she drops her charts down and bids Liam and the woman a farewell.

The way the woman quickly reaches for Liam’s hand and sits down on the edge of the bed isn’t lost to her at all.

-/-

Henry finds out first.

He doesn’t know how but he finds this out after his visit to Liam, three days after receiving the letter, when he spots the young boy yelling at his mother while she stands there, near tears. He was certain he was careful to hide the letter from Emma. He should have known that hiding it from Emma didn’t mean he’d be able to hide it from Henry.

(In hindsight, he should have carried that letter with him, even if it felt like the heaviest weight imaginable.)

“You wanted to push grandma away before and now you want to push Killian away!”

“Hey!” Killian interjects, shutting the door behind him. He approaches them, stopping just a few paces away from Henry. “Now, you know that’s no way to speak to your mother, lad.”

“So you want to leave us? Leave me?”

He doesn’t know what’s more heartbreaking: Henry looking up at him with those big expressive eyes, about to cry, or Emma standing behind him, hand covering her mouth as she silently cries.

(Both. They both break his heart, because a stupid, impulsive decision and its consequences are tearing his family apart.)

“Of course not, Henry.” He crouches down, level with him, placing his hands on his arms. “But sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. This is one of them.”

Henry rips his arms away from his hold with a furrow of his brows and a shake of his head before running up the stairs. He doesn’t flinch until he hears the sound of a door slamming upstairs.

“Emma,” he begins to say, standing up.

She holds a hand up and shakes her head.

“Don’t. I can’t. Not right now,” she says. “I need some air. Just…watch him. It’s the least you can do before you go.”

She grabs her coat from the hook and heads out, slamming the front door on her way out.

(He deserves that. Scratch that. He deserves everything and more coming his way.)

-/-

Ariel throws her hair over her shoulder, scribbling down a few numbers on some lines, a few notes below.

Nothing changes. Nothing has changed since she’s been assigned to Liam Jones. They’ll probably think she’s lost her mind for talking to a comatose patient, but sometimes she swears he can hear her.

She has to remind herself they’re called _Christmas miracles_ and not _New Year’s Eve_ miracles.

“Your brother stopped by today,” she says, adjusting the book left behind yesterday. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but he said something about a long departure. Vacation maybe?”

She flips the book open to the front cover, seeing the shaky letters of a child spelling out ‘PROPERTY OF HENRY SWAN’. That answers yesterday’s question.

“You also had another visitor today. She and your brother bumped into each other in the hall,” she continues, holding the chart against her chest. “Does your brother know you’re involved with her?”

She swears she hears a brief switch in his heart rhythm, but by the time she makes her way around to check for fluctuations, it’s gone. The history shows nothing, either.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. You’d better have an interesting story to share, too,” Ariel says. She reaches down and gives his arm a squeeze before walking out of the room and onto the next one.

-/-

The days pass much too quickly for their liking. With each new morning after Christmas, they’re reminded of the fewer ones they have left together before his departure. She hasn’t banished him off to the couch yet, both having agreed to act at least somewhat normal for Henry’s sake. After all, they wanted him as unaffected by this as possible.

(She doesn’t see how that’s likely considering _he_ found the letter, but that’s neither here nor there right now.)

They fall asleep with enough room for Henry between them and awake with just the same. It isn’t until the morning of New Year’s Eve when she wakes up in his arms, limbs tangled together, and doesn’t make an effort to move.

“You’re awake,” he says, chest rumbling against her cheek as he speaks.

“So are you.”

His hand snakes its way into her hair, fingers giving a gentle tug as he tilts her head up to his. Her fingers at his back tighten on his shirt, breath caught in her throat as his lips near hers. She only blinks, eyes glancing down to his lips then back up at his own, before he kisses her.

She stills, ready to protest about morning breath and other things, but when he pulls away and looks down at her, it all seems so trivial in the grand scheme of things. So she tugs him forward again, hand at the nape of his neck as she crashes her lips onto his.

He nudges her onto her back, tongue moving against hers in a way that has her feeling like this is more than just a few days of pent up frustrations—like this might be goodbye. Her head’s still spinning when he sits up, reaching behind him to tug his shirt off.

“The door,” Emma says, trying to catch her breath.

Killian shakes his head. “It’s fine. Everyone’s still asleep.”

He swallows her protests with his mouth, lips on hers once more. His fingers only reach underneath her shirt, skim along her ribs, before their door’s thrown open. They jump apart, Emma holding the blanket up to her chest as Killian hides underneath.

“Uh, what are you guys doing?” Henry asks as he stands by the door.

“We were…” Killian begins to say.

Emma quickly adds an, “About to make coffee.”

Henry raises an eyebrow that’s so clearly Killian, making Emma’s heart race then and there 

“Well, don’t bother,” the boy says, hand still on the doorknob. “Grandma’s making some downstairs. She sent me to get you two for breakfast.”

“We’ll be right down, lad.”

He offers them another weird look before heading out and shutting the door behind him 

 _So much for everyone being asleep_ , Emma thinks as she glances over at Killian. He hesitates for a moment before relaxing into the mattress. There’s a smile on his face for a split second before it slowly fades.

It only takes a moment for the smile on her face to fade too, as the morning, the day, and his impending departure all seem to dawn on her, too.

It’s no better when they arrive downstairs. Ingrid quickly sends them both off on errands, last minute things that need to be bought or picked up before the new year arrives. While the time out of the house, together, would have lifted their moods, the air remains thick with the realization that they may not have this come next year.

(Henry opting to stay home brings back the pain once more.)

-/-

Potlucks held at a diner don’t make so much sense, except when it’s the only place big enough to house everyone Ruby and Granny have invited. It’s not the first time Emma, Henry, Ingrid and Elsa spend at the diner, ringing in the new year.

It is the first time, in quite a long time, that they’re not joined by the elder Jones brother but by the younger.

He figured the normalcy of the last few days would have carried through until tonight. He figures, after his second glass of rum by the counter, that he shouldn’t have assumed such things. The moment Emma stepped through those diner doors, she had gravitated toward Graham and Ruby.

If it weren’t for David keeping him company, he would have done something to stop the twitch in his jaw.

He tries not to look over at her all night, truly plans on allowing her to continue avoiding him until the sun comes up, but he cracks when the countdown to midnight starts. He sees the way she slips away from the crowds as couples gather together, readying for the midnight kiss 

_Ten._

He picks up his glass.

_Nine._

He knocks back whatever’s left, eyes never leaving hers.

_Eight._

Oh God, that shouldn’t still burn.

_Seven._

He places the glass back down.

_Six._

He gets up from his stool.

_Five._

They make eye contact.

_Four._

He walks over to her.

_Three._

He licks his lips.

_Two._

He grabs onto her waist.

_One._

He kisses her.

_Happy New Year!_

Everything else falls away the minute their lips touch. The letter, the anger, the avoidance all seem like things of the past as he pulls her closer to him. Her hands come up, both resting on his chest. He expects her to push her away, to break their little bubble, but she does the opposite.

She grabs onto the jacket he had slipped on a while ago, when he had thought about just leaving before midnight came, and pulls him closer to deepen the kiss. He’s pretty sure he moans at the feeling of her tongue finding his but he can’t seem to care when she’s still here in front of him and they still have some time left. 

Except, even that time’s cut short. Someone coughs, _loudly_ , and has them jumping away from each other like they’ve been burned. Emma doesn’t wait for everyone’s reactions or from word from Killian or anything. She simply pulls away from him and heads to the back, away from the whispers that begin in the wake of their actions.

He, once again, ends up alone.

-/-

Emma and Killian stand outside Liam’s door as Henry sits inside, storybook open in his lap. While she didn’t wish to be here today—it’s the day before Killian leaves and ever since the New Year’s Eve midnight kiss, she’s been avoiding him like the first time he left—Killian insisted on letting an overly eager Henry tag along.

Neither one of them thought that would mean getting kicked out of the room because Henry has “important things to discuss” with his comatose uncle. His voice carries out the still opened door, talks of fairytale characters and true love and happy endings making her chest ache.

She won’t get any of that, because her real world happy ending and true love happen stands before her, ready to leave in twenty-four hours, unsure of when he’ll return.

“I think that makes you Captain Hook’s brother,” Henry’s voice carries, followed by the sound of pages being flipped. “Except he’s dead and you’re just asleep. So maybe you aren’t.”

Emma crosses her arms and leans against the wall on one side of the door. She glances over at Killian, position mimicking her own, and can’t help but shake her head at the small grin appearing on his face. Ever since Henry had taken to storytelling and this book, he’s always compared them to characters in it. Emma always told him otherwise; a story without Henry in it was not one with her happy ending.

Killian? Well, Killian probably enjoyed being compared to Captain Hook, of all people. All she got was the lost Swan Princess.

“I asked my mom once if maybe we were cursed, like the people in this book,” Henry says softly. “She said no, because she has me and Da—Killian. And cursed people aren’t happy like she is.”

She casts her eyes down to the floor, feeling the blush start to creep up her cheeks at that. She remembers exactly when she said that: when she felt like her family was finally complete.

“Was happy, I guess. Because now he’s leaving us. Me.”

She doesn’t register Killian’s presence until she opens her eyes and looks down at the boots against her own, toe to toe. His hands are warm as they cup her face, tilting his head up to hers. She sees the tear slip from his eye and knows this is killing him just as much as it’s killing them.

“Please don’t leave me, too,” Henry says.

She grips his henley tight, afraid of what her hands might do if she lets go in that moment. He doesn’t seem to be, because milliseconds later he presses his forehead against hers, noses brushing. If she inches forward she knows they’ll kiss and it won’t be like last time because the anger’s morphed into hurt and she’ll take what she can get at this point.

Their lips only brush against one another’s before Henry’s frantically shouting for both of them, causing them to jump apart. Killian grips her hand and tugs her into the room with him, stopping still at the sight before him.

“Killian! What are you—” she begins to say but falls silent when the sight catches up with her too.

There, before them, stands a shocked Henry, held in place. That thing keeping him in place?

Liam’s hand on his arm.

“Everything okay in here?” Ariel asks, appearing behind them by the door. She takes one look at the stunned family before she looks over at the man in the hospital bed and her eyes widen.

“Oh.”

(Except that last voice doesn’t belong to Ariel at all.)

-/-

If you were to tell Killian this morning that—on his last day in town—he’d be mediating his comatose brother’s love life, he’d laugh at you. Yet, here he sits, inside his brother’s hospital room, talking to _Tink_ of all people.

(It’s a shame that of all nicknames she’s had over the years, this one stuck most of all.)

She’s explained it, twice, and still Killian doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why she feels obligated to visit so often; what the phone call—just before his accident—between the two of them means; how Elsa’s been making her own regular visits here, too, and the two have yet to bump into one another, nevermind Elsa never mentioning being on the outs with his brother.

Emma only shifts in her seat, watching the conversation unfold. She had offered to step out of the room, but one quick look from Killian and she knew he couldn’t be left alone. Not with this. After all, Tink’s been her friend since she first walked into town and Killian’s known her for what seems like forever.

Maybe that’s why neither of them can quite process the story of Elsa and Tink and the comatose man there before them 

“So you’re dating my brother?” Killian asks for the third time this afternoon 

“No!” Tink quickly says. She opens her mouth to speak then shuts it, shaking her head. She takes a moment to compose herself, to find the right words, before she crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s complicated. Just…not the kind you think.”

Ariel could only keep Henry away for so long, it seems. Before Killian can ask another question, the two of them return from their trip to the cafeteria downstairs. He carries a small covered cup with him, and with the way he happily drinks it she’s certain it’s the hot chocolate he had been craving since this morning.

“Are we leaving yet?” he asks, making his way over to Emma.

“Right now,” Killian says, answering for her. He doesn’t wait for Tink to say anything, doesn’t say anything to Ariel either as he gathers Henry’s book and leads the boy out of the hospital room.

Emma only offers the two of them an apologetic look before she follows them out and down the hall. His silent demeanor continues as they step into the elevator so she opts for silently standing there, giving him his space; a quick glimpse at him and she’d be able to spot the clenched jaw, the emotions that swirl inside of him because of everything.

Him leaving. 

(His doing.)

The uncertainty of them going forward.

(His fault.)

Liam still in a coma.

(While not directly his fault, he’ll still take that blame on, too.)

He holds Henry a bit closer as they ride the elevator down; the young boy, for the most part, silently sips his hot chocolate as he leans against Killian. He finds comfort in knowing he hasn’t pulled away from him.

-/-

For one split moment, he forgets about it all. He forgets that he’s leaving in the morning, that he’s well on his way to splitting up his family, and that there’s nothing he can do to stop this.

As he steps back into their room, teeth brushed and face washed, he spots Emma curled up in bed. He wonders, briefly, if he should take the couch tonight, but her outstretched hand immediately answers that question.

“Thought you were asleep,” he says, settling into bed next to her.

She shakes her head before she rests her head against his chest. “Can’t sleep.”

It’s not long before their legs are tangled together, Killian’s arms wrapped around her as her head finds the crook of his neck. His heart’s racing, he can hear it, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

A small voice jolts them both from their peace. Emma lifts her head up just as Killian does, both of them spotting Henry by the door. He moves first, shifting the blanket out of the way as she waves him over.

He settles between them, resting his head against Killian’s chest as he grabs Emma’s arm and wraps it around him.

“Love, I—” he begins to say, but she just shakes her head.

“Don’t,” she tells him. “Let’s just enjoy this. Please.”

“Okay.”

He drops a kiss atop Henry’s head before sleep claims them all.

-/-

Saying he leaves like a thief in the night would be too kind, too poetic, too peaceful.

He leaves like a tornado leaving a path of destruction in its wake.

He spends the morning before his flight shoving articles of clothing haphazardly into his bag—though it’s not like he needs many.

Whatever happiness they experienced last night was fleeting at best. Henry ran off to his room the moment he awoke and hasn’t uttered a word since he asked Ingrid for more cinnamon on his cocoa.

Killian doesn’t need the reminder of his own kid not wanting to spend time with him to know he’s messed up—badly.

The car ride to the airport’s spent in silence, Killian having said his goodbyes to Ingrid at the house before she left for the ice cream shop, leaving him with the two people he never expected to disappoint showing their complete, well, disappointment in him all the way there.

He expects her to just drop him off and drive away, knowing it’s what he’d deserve after all of this anyway. Still, Emma Swan proves just how much better she is than him. She parks and tells Henry to watch his step as he gets out, both of them planning on walking him inside.

Henry reaches for his hand the minute he hops out of the car, eyes unable to lift themselves from the ground. He almost breaks down then and there at the thought of leaving them and the realization that he doesn’t deserve two kind people as them.

“You have your boarding pass?” Emma asks, stopping by the start of the security line.

Killian nods, waving his phone. “In here.”

“Passport?”

He nods, patting at the duffel bag on his side as Henry’s hand tightens around his own.

“So I guess this is it.”

(Little does he know those words will come to refer to more than just his departure.)

Before he can think about the line he’s to join soon, before the thoughts of his stupidity, his impulsivity come racing back into his mind, Emma grabs his jacket and pulls him to her. She presses one final kiss against his lips before pulling away to rest her forehead against his.

“Come back to me,” she whispers. He drops a kiss against her forehead, blinking back the tears that won’t seem to go away. 

The small tug on his hand brings him back to the airport, seeming to thrust him back into the fact that he’s leaving now. Crouching down, he drops a kiss against Henry’s cheek before enveloping the boy in his arms.

“Be good for your mum, you hear me?” he whispers, smiling once he feels Henry nod against his shoulder. “I’ll write and call as often as I can.”

“You promise?” Henry asks, pulling away. Killian nods, pressing another kiss against his forehead before he stands up.

Emma wipes her eyes, pointing to the security line. “Go. Before you miss your flight.”

He nods, leaning over to drop one last kiss against her lips. He watches as Henry slips over to her side, grabbing onto her hand so tightly his knuckles turn white.

And when he disappears into the crowd of people, they do too.

-/-

Months pass before they hear from him.

He calls, briefly wishing Henry a happy birthday despite the actual date being a week or so away. He’ll be stationed somewhere far away, he tells them, but promises to send Henry a birthday card when the day arrives.

The day arrives but the card doesn’t; neither does a phone call.

At least, not one from him.

The frantic yet happy voice from the hospital letting them know that Liam’s regained the ability to breathe on his own again provides them with a bit of good news.

-/-

“Kid, get your feet off the bed,” Emma scolds, returning back to the hospital room with a jello cup and a small cupcake, courtesy of Ariel over at the nurses’ station. She drops both on the table above Liam’s bed, sliding it over to Henry.

Henry groans, shifting his feet off the edge of Liam’s bed before he turns his attention back to the book in his lap. 

Sure, spending the day visiting your not-as-comatose-not-quite-brother-in-law wasn’t the ideal way to pass the time on your day off, but if your kid asks to spend the day with his third favorite person the day after his birthday, who is she to deny him that request?

She knows it won’t make up for the fact that they spent the day hovering over her cell phone, waiting for a call from Killian that never came, but she hopes it’ll help. From the way he’s deflected any and all talk about him, she doesn’t think it will.

“If you’re not going to eat your cupcake, I’ll gladly take it off your hands,” she says, reaching for it once more. Henry simply narrows his eyes up at her, causing her to hold her hands up in surrender before she takes the vacant seat on the opposite side of Liam’s bed.

The man has a bit of color to him, now that he can breathe without the ventilator, but the fact that he hasn’t woken up yet worries them a bit. Sure, the doctors say that’s all normal and to be expected, but that hasn’t stopped them all from worrying that day won’t come.

Emma reaches for the remote atop the table, flipping through the channels until something catches her eye.

“Hey, look,” she says, pointing to the screen. “That looks like one of the boats Killian told us about, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not a boat, mom,” Henry says, looking up from his book. “It’s a—”

“Ship.”

Her eyes widen at the foreign voice, hoarse and raspy and evident of the lack of use in so long.

“It’s a ship.”

Henry slams his book shut, all but falling out of the chair as he steps closer to the bed, closer to the man stirring awake.

“Ariel!” Emma calls out, thumb frantically pressing the red button next to his bed. “Ariel, get in here!”

As the redhead enters the room, she stops, hand flying over her mouth in shock. Emma follows her gaze, not to the man on the bed but to the television screen where a new ship graces their screens and a familiar face scroll appears.

She freezes, eyes scanning the headline just above the red **BREAKING NEWS** bulletin.

**EXPLOSION ON USS ROGERS DURING HOSTAGE SITUATION. CAPT. NEMO AND LT. K. JONES CONFIRMED STILL ON BOARD.**


End file.
